Cracked Walls
by The Jack Loving Misfit
Summary: (Warnings: Slash and a Strange dream induced pairing!) Reflections of loves lost, gained and the art of letting go and moving on. (Finished)
1. Spot: Seed of Envy

Cracked Walls  
  
By: The Jack Loving Misfit aka Courtney  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Jack, Spot, Race or any newsies characters. Disney does and I can not even describe how lucky they are.  
  
Rating: R ( language, slash)  
  
Summary: Reflections, each chapter is told in one of the three main characters point of views. I'm probably only going to have three chapters (one from each POV) but if people want me to write more, I might.  
  
Warnings: This story contains SLASH. If you are unaware of what slash is, well, I'm not sure how long you've been reading fan fiction, but you should be familiar with the term. To all you slash regulars, let me warn you that this also contains a very strange pairing. One that was thought up last night by my dream induced mind. So please don't kill me. Because my mind has a mind of it's own and I can't control the images it creates after watching Newsies back to back three times and staying up til two in the morning. Blame the dreams, it's really all their fault.  
  
And so, without further stupid ramblings on my part, here is my story. . .  
  
Chapter One: Seed of Envy (Spot)  
  
I hate gamblers.  
  
I didn't used too, but I sure do now. Especially short, loud mouthed, cigar smoking, Italian gamblers from Manhattan.  
  
I suppose I could blame myself, but the whole thing can't possibly be my fault. At least, that's what I keep telling myself because I refuse to see how I could push him so far away that he felt the need to seek comfort from someone else. Especially him. And it's impossible for me to understand or comprehend that I would let him turn his attentions elsewhere without my knowing.  
  
Well, the impossible became the possible just under a month ago. And here I am, still wishing I could point the finger at someone other than myself.  
  
It started shortly after the strike ended. Things were getting back to normal, but not quick enough for him. Most would love the fame that accompanied being the strike leader. But not Cowboy, he wanted all the hype to die down so he could, and I quote, 'go back to being a nobody'. He had come over to Brooklyn when it got to the point where he thought he would go insane from the suffocation.  
  
"Youse the only one I'se can talk too. Leader to leader," He had said as we sat there on the docks.  
  
Jack's got this one bad habit of just staring at you with this completely blank expression on his face. Like he's trying to eat you alive with his eyes or something. Or trying to figure out exactly what's going through you mind and exactly each emotion you're feeling. I hate his staring. It makes my face get all hot and makes me uncomfortable. I don't like being picked apart or studied. And that night he was doing it a lot. In fact, the stare was so intense I had to light up a cigarette to calm my bouncing nerves. But no matter what I did he wouldn't stop.  
  
"You got a staring problem do ya Jacky-boy?" I asked, laughing bitterly before putting my cigarette back into my mouth.  
  
He didn't say anything or even acknowledge that he'd hear me speak. Instead he leaned towards me and plucked the cigarette from between my lips and crushed his own lips to mine. It was a searing and short kiss. When he broke it he kept his eyes closed and his body tensed. Probably expecting me to punch him. And I'll admit, that was my first instinct. But in this case I went with my second thought, pulling him back down into a hungry and passionate kiss.  
  
And that was how it all began a little over a year ago. Even after the hype died down to only the occasional whisper from the street passer-bys, we continued to meet at night (Sometimes in Manhattan, Sometimes in Brooklyn and one time in Queens which was by accident) to talk which always ended up with us making out like a couple of horny fifteen year olds. Never less, never more. And I figured Jack felt nothing as I had convinced myself that I felt nothing beyond friendship for the handsome Manhattan leader. Until one night proved my theory wrong.  
  
We were kissing (on the docks in Brooklyn this time) when he laid me down on my back and climbed over me, straddling my hips. He kissed me again than sat up and started dexterously undoing my shirt, slipping my suspenders off my shoulders as well. That sent alarms off in my head and I grabbed his wrists before he could remove my shirt fully.  
  
"What da hell do ya think yer doing?" I hissed at the boy peering down at me.  
  
"Undressing you," He said as if it were the most obvious and calm thing in the world.  
  
"I can SEE dat. But I mean why?" I asked.  
  
Jack laughed, a deep throaty laugh which only confused me further. Then, after he had controlled his laughter, he leaned down so that his mouth was right by my ear and I could feel his hot breath on that side of my face. Which in turn heated up the rest of my face.  
  
"I'se don' know about you Conlon, but I ain't ever 'ad sex wit someone wit 'dere clothes on," He whispered seductively in my ear.  
  
With this statement my eyes widened and my breath caught in my own throat. Knowing I still had my hands wrapped around his wrists, I used that to my advantage and shoved him off of me.  
  
He looked mildly shocked and sat back up, placing his dark eyes on me in confusion. Almost demanding that I explain myself.  
  
"What makes you think I'se would sleep wit you?" I asked him in an edgy voice which almost came out as a growl.  
  
Again he just looked at me until I turned to face him while I tried to button back up my shirt in the dark. Then he uttered the words I never expected to hear. Least of all from him.  
  
"Because I love you."  
  
Nobody had ever told me they loved before. Not my whore of a mother and not my drunken abusive bastard of a father. Not anybody. The word love seemed and was foreign to me. I didn't understand it, or even believe it actually existed. Love scared me, I'll admit it. And hearing Jack say those words, it scared the hell out of me. I just froze up.  
  
Jack watched my reaction in silence and frowned. "Don' youse love me?"  
  
Again I clamed up. Love never passed my mind when I was with Jack. Desire, lust, passion those I associated with. Those I understood. Love? He might as well have been speaking in a totally different language. So I hardened my outer shell and answered him.  
  
"No Jack, I don'."  
  
The minute the words left my mouth I wished I could take them back. I watched, painfully, as Jack's face fell faster than a ton of bricks. His eyes glazed over and he hung his head so that his brown locks fell across his face shielding it from view. He fidgeted with his hands before speaking in a soft very un-Jack like voice.  
  
"So, what was all dis ta you?"  
  
I swallowed hard. "Don' know. Jist some fun, suppose."  
  
"Fun. . ." He repeated to himself. And suddenly he was on his feet, dusting off his pants and straightening his vest. I scrambled to me feet as well and just stared at him until he raised his eyes to meet mine. They were clouded over in a mixture of pain and self hatred.  
  
"Next time youse wants ta 'ave some fun, warn me okay? Before I make a complete ass of myself," He remarked bitterly, turned on a heel and left me staring after him on the dock.  
  
That night I couldn't sleep, his words were rolling around in my mind and his pained eyes haunted me. I didn't eat the next morning either. And by noon it had gotten so bad that I decided I needed to talk to him personally, so that night I sought HIM out.  
  
"What do ya want Spot?" He asked roughly as I led him away from the thin crowd of night travelers.  
  
"I wanted to say I'se sorry I reacted bad last night," I began trying not to stumble over my words. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare at me with blank eyes. Waiting.  
  
"An' I know I'se don' love youse now Jack, but, uh, I could learn. Jist give me a chance," I finished and looked into his finely chiseled face, waiting for the acceptance I knew I would receive.  
  
He peered down at me through his eyelashes but did nothing. So I raised my hand to his head, bringing him down until our lips touched in a feather like kiss. At first he didn't respond, but soon enough he was kissing me back with as much passion as he's ever shone. He even wrapped his arms around me, closing any possible gap between our bodies.  
  
That was the night he became my addiction.  
  
It was also the night I began to fall in love with him.  
  
* * *  
  
We saw each other every night after that for four months. It was exactly before, except this time we never talked, just dove right into the kissing. He never mentioned loving me again and I didn't even know that I was falling for him. All I knew at the time was that I yearned for the nighttime so badly that it was harder for me to sell my papers during the dragging days.  
  
Two months ago, I was waiting for him on the outskirts of Manhattan. It was in the dead of summer and over ninety degrees and I was sweating horridly. Jack arrived about an hour after I did. He was walking slowly, his hands jammed into his pockets and his eyes downcast.  
  
"An' Jacky-boy, what took ya so long?" I asked playfully, approaching him. I reached out to grab his arm but he flinched under my fingers and pulled away as if my touch burned him. Confused, I looked up at him, but for the first time since I met him he wouldn't meet my eyes. That's when I knew for sure that something was wrong.  
  
"Jack?" I questioned. He took an unsteady breath and ran a hand through his hair. A sign to me that he was nervous about something.  
  
"Spot. . . we need ta talk," He said finally, shifting his weight.  
  
"Okay Jack. What about?" I tried to sound calm but I didn't like the way he was sounding.  
  
"Us. Dis nightly thing we do. I. . .you. . . god. It's jist. . . I'm tired Spot," He said rubbing his eyes. From the way he said it I had the feeling that he wasn't talking about being tired physically. And that started to make ME nervous.  
  
"What 'da ya mean?" I asked slowly even though a nasty pit was forming in my stomach.  
  
"I mean I can't do dis no more!" He exploded in anger, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  
  
"Wese could cut back ya know? Not do dis every night or somethin," I told him keeping my voice low and steady.  
  
"No. I can't do dis. It's tearin me apart," He said firmly.  
  
"But I don't understand Jack!" I cried, letting some of my welling desperation enter my voice.  
  
"Youse do understand! You jist don' want too!" He yelled back in my face, his eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
"Tell me. Tawk to me. Tell me what I'se can do ta change yer mind," I pleaded, almost begged him. I grabbed his arm and squeezed hoping I could make him look at me and see I was serious.  
  
"Tell me you love me."  
  
I was so stunned by the coolness of his voice that I let go of his arm.  
  
"W-What?"  
  
"Tell me you love me. Three little words Spot and I'll never leave," He turned to look at me and I stared straight into his piercing dark orbs. The intensity of them almost making me melt on sight.  
  
That's when it hit me like I'd been punched in the gut and chest.  
  
I did love him. Just watching him then I realized it. I also realized I needed him. But I was too distracted by my revelation and far too stunned as well to answer him. Which he took in the wrongest way possible. He let his gaze drop from my eyes and he sighed sadly.  
  
He closed the distance between us and dropped a kiss on my lips. I kissed back readily trying in anyway possible to show him what my own voice still couldn't form the words too. He was the one who broke the kiss and ran his thumb over my bottom lip, smiling sadly down at me.  
  
"Goodbye Spot," He said, breaking my heart with two words. The same way I broke his by not saying three. Poetic justice isn't it?  
  
I just watched him go, my mind was still racing and when my legs finally freed themselves from their cement encasing I traveled back to my bunkhouse in Brooklyn. Slowly. My boys were asleep when I got there, and I quietly crashed on my bed. It may have been almost a hundred degrees out, but I felt cold. And very alone.  
  
And very aware that I had just lost not only my best friend, but the only person to ever love me and all because of my own stubbornness.  
  
* * *  
  
I knew Racetrack was Jack's best friend as far as the Manhattan newsies went, and I didn't think that much of it when they started hanging around each other after our "break-up". At least, I didn't think that much of it until I saw the way Race was looking at Jack. I knew that look, all too well and I didn't like seeing it on the little gamblers face. Especially since it was directed in Cowboy's direction.  
  
Although angry that Race would even dare to look at Jack that way, it didn't hurt me until I actually saw Jack return the look. And even then I didn't really believe it until I caught them together by accident.  
  
I had come over to Manhattan to visit them, and may be talk to Jack a little. At least get him speaking to me civilly again. I walked in and asked were Jack was, the boys were down in the halls playing some cards and being just generally lazy. It didn't occur to me when I didn't see Jack among them that Race wasn't either, and at the time I don't think it occurred to them either or they might have stopped me from what I was about to witness.  
  
"I think 'e's upstairs," Blink said shrugging his shoulders when I questioned them. Taking his suggestion I made my way up the creaky old stairs cautiously.  
  
When I didn't hear anything after pressing my ear to the surface of the door, I opened it slowly and quietly. I peered inside and didn't see anything right away. I was about to call out when I heard a small noise to the left of me. I ducked down slightly, out of sight, and looked in that direction. And the next thing I know I'm trying to catch myself from falling flat on my face in total shock.  
  
Standing there, I saw Jack and Racetrack. Jack was leaned up against the bunks with his arms resting slightly on Race's hips, while Race was gripping Jack's shoulders for what looked like dear life. They were kissing deeply, and it didn't look like this had just began then. I watched the two with wide eyes before I felt myself get sick and I slipped out of the doorway unseen.  
  
I stood outside the door for a few minutes, my breathing shallow and I'm sure my cheeks were flushed. But when I thought I had recovered enough to walk without falling I walked back down the stairs even slower than I walked up and not really noticing where I was going.  
  
"Was 'e up dere?" Mush called from the poker game they had started on the last couple steps of the stairs. Blink, Snitch, Crutchy and Bumlets all looked up at me.  
  
"Um, yeah. But he and Race were. . .talking," I trailed off thinking up an excuse because I wasn't sure if any of the guys knew about any of this.  
  
"An youse didn't just barge in?" Snitch asked me, not meaning to sound sarcastic or anything, so I didn't glare at him.  
  
"They uh, sounded serious," I mumbled and rubbed my fingers over the top of my cane absent mindedly. They exchanged glances and shook their heads.  
  
"Huh. Those two 'ave been hanging round each other too much lately," Blink commented narrowing his eyes in thought.  
  
"Yeah. Dey have. Hey! Maybe dey're 'aving a lovers spat!" Skittery called from the ground by the poker players. He had a big grin on his face and the rest of the group burst out laughing, showing me that he was just kidding around. Oh, if they only knew. . .  
  
"Well, whatevah. I'm getting outta 'ere," I said suddenly and pushing my the remaining newsies that were in my way. They obliged (moving I mean) without protest and let me go out into the streets.  
  
"See ya Spot," Boots called before I was out of the door. I nodded back at him and left them back to their other activities.  
  
When I did see Jack again, it was in Medda's with all the other Manhattan boys. I was sitting two tables away from him sipping my beer and watching him through my eyelashes. Race was right up next to him even though they were the only ones at the table, all the other guys were by the bar getting drunker than dogs. Myself, I was going half insane just watching them.  
  
They're fingers brushed every time either reached for their own beers and instead of talking to each other like normal people they were whispering everything. Jack's arm was casually draped across the chair Race was sitting in and Race was pretty much invading Jack's personal space. They were so obvious that no one noticed it. But I think it was Jack's expression that angered me the most.  
  
He looked happy.  
  
Hell, happy is an understatement. He was so happy he was glowing! This bright smile was covering his whole face and his eyes were shining under the dozens of lights that were illuminating the whole place. And I couldn't help but think that even though he claimed to love me, he never looked that happy around me.  
  
I suppose I never let him though did I? I never let him touch me, even a slap on the back, in public once we had our nightly 'flings'. I barely even acknowledged him talking to me then too. To him, it must've seemed like I was using him. And yet he kept coming back because he loved me and thought he could make me love him. Well, now that I do, he's with Racetrack. Who isn't pushing him away. Who seems to be giving him the attention and affection he deserves but never received from me. Race isn't holding him at arms length hoping no one will find out. Praying that he doesn't actually feel something for Jack and stubbornly refusing to believe it.  
  
In fact, I bet Race tells Jack he loves him every chance he gets.  
  
That's were I messed up. I didn't seem to care, I only let him do what I wanted him too and never showed any appreciation for it in return. I was acting like Spot Conlon around him. And he didn't need Spot Conlon the fearless, cold Brooklyn leader. He needed Spot Conlon the seventeen year old boy. The human Spot Conlon. And I refused to give him that.  
  
Everyone has their breaking point. At least all humans do, and that's why Jack finally left me. Left me and moved on. . .  
  
. . . to Race.  
  
God, have I mentioned how much I hate that guy? Well, I guess hate is too strong a word, it's next to impossible to actually hate him. But I'm damn close too hating him. Mostly because he's smarter than me. (Not that I'll admit that to anyone) He has Jack. And he knows how to keep him. I'm not sure if Jack loves him but the way they act around each other. . . I wouldn't be surprised if I was the farthest thought from his mind. And it hurts to think about that, but I've got to be realistic don't I?  
  
He caught me staring at him that night in Medda's when Race was yelling at Snipeshooter for something. I didn't look away at first I just pressed my eyes to his and we stayed like that for a few moments. He knew I knew, I could see it in the way his face contorted in pity and apologizes. Like he owed me something after the way I had treated me. I looked away when I spotted the pity. I'm Spot Conlon for christ sakes, I don't need anybody's pity.  
  
I don't need pity.  
  
But I do need Jack.  
  
I just wish I hadn't been stupid enough not to go after him that night and tell him what I had realized. I wish I hadn't been such a coward when it came down to it. I wish I was smart enough to hold on to him because every minute of knowing he's not mine is like living a minute in the deepest depths of hell.  
  
But most of all I wish I had Jack with me. Loving me. Needing me.  
  
Where's a shooting star when you need one? 


	2. Racetrack: Scenes From An Italian Life

Chapter Two: Scenes From An Italian Life (Racetrack)  
  
Ever get the feeling that you're being watched? I do. And whenever I get that feeling I know that our favorite Brooklyn leader has come to pay us a little visit. Something he does more often in the last month than he ever did before. Gee, I wonder why. . .  
  
He hates me. Wanna know how I know? Because whenever I'm around him he stares daggers right into my body. And I think given the chance he might try to put a real one in. What did I do to deserve all this hatred you ask? One small thing. I fell in love with the same guy as him.  
  
I didn't mean too, honestly. You can't help who you fall for. And yet, he makes it seem like it's a sin for me to even THINK about loving Jack. Well, if that's the case than he's a sinner too. Besides, he's got no one to blame but himself. He's the one that drove Jack away. Who couldn't bring himself to allow a "weakness" like love to tear him down. Even if he felt it with every fiber of his being.  
  
Back then I knew something was going on between them. I saw the body language (or lack of therefore) and knew something was up with them. It was so painfully obvious. But I never said anything because I couldn't be a hundred percent sure. Until I saw them.  
  
I'd out stayed my welcome at the races and was forced to walk home in the nighttime. There wasn't anyone else around on the streets that I could see and had I not heard the moaning I probably would've passed by them without a second thought. However, being the curious boy I am, I went to investigate.  
  
Stupid. Very stupid.  
  
I stayed locked in the shadows so I wouldn't be seen. And as I went deeper into the alley the moaning just got louder. Finally I saw two figures pressed up against the side of a building. They were also in quite the sexual position. (If you can imagine) The taller one had the other pinned beneath him with one hand up against the side wall to keep from crushing the smaller one. I couldn't see the other hand so I can only imagine what that one was doing. I couldn't make out either faces, since they seemed to be attached there. Only when the smaller one threw his head back was I able to see that it was Spot. He was panting (Yes, I know. I was surprised too) and clawing at the back of the still unknown person.  
  
"Oh fuck, Jack!" He moaned loud enough that I was sure his boys back in Brooklyn couldn't heard him. But it was the name that he said that startled me into some kind of reality. Sure, even if I had suspected it was true, that didn't prepare me for actually seeing it. And let me tell you, after the realization sunk in I got the hell out of there. I ran all the way back to the lodging house.  
  
When Jack came strolling in an hour later I acted as if I didn't know, but I couldn't quite bring myself to look him in the eye. The memory of what I'd seen scorched into my mind was enough to keep me up the rest of the night. And every day after that I pretended I had no idea where Jack left too every night. I just sat there shuffling and dealing the cards as the others gossiped and guessed. All I could think was how he was out in some alley or something, screwing Spot senseless. And for some reason that made my stomach drop enough to feel the very beginnings of jealousy working it's way through my whole body.  
  
He didn't need to tell me what happened. I knew the moment I walked into the bunkhouse and saw him sitting there crying. No one else was around. I took this as my chance to confront him and if possible help a little.  
  
"What's wrong Jack?" I asked (although as I said I pretty much already knew) walking over to him. He tensed up at first but when he realized it was only me he slouched over again, but wiped his eyes furiously. People like us don't cry. At least, not in front of anyone else.  
  
"It's nuthin Race. Don worry bout it," He said, his voice already back to normal. Like he hadn't cried at all. Jack's pretty good at hiding his emotions when he needs too.  
  
"Aw, come on. Youse can tell me. Jack Kelly don' cry without a damn good reason," I commented, lighting up a cigarette and offering him one as well.  
  
He took it gratefully but didn't ask for a light, he just put it between his lips and bit on the end a little, getting the nicotine any way possible. He sighed heavily and turned to face me. My breath caught in my throat as I gazed into his darker than night eyes which were still rimmed in red. The outlines of his forgotten tears still streaking his face, visible enough to see if you were sitting as close to him as I was. He looked horrible. And yet, in some weird way, beautiful.  
  
"Hows you know I was cryin at all?" He asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.  
  
"I'm not dumb. And I ain't deaf. Youse know dat," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. He rolled his and turned his eyes back to the window he had been staring out of before I came in.  
  
"Yeah, Yeah," he chuckled and threw the basically unused cigarette out the window near us. I bit my lip then gathered the courage I needed to ask him the question that had been burning on my tongue since I saw him.  
  
"So. . . did, uh, Spot break up wit 'chu?" I asked softly.  
  
He snapped his head around to look at me in utter confusion and shock. He didn't say anything at first and I knew exactly what he was thinking so I answered for him.  
  
"I just know alright? Let's not get inta how I'se do," I didn't particularly want to tell him what I had seen that night, and thankfully he didn't pry. Maybe he was as embarrassed as I felt. He laughed again though this time it was hallow and bitter.  
  
"Naw. . . I broke up wit 'im," He said to my surprise.  
  
"Wanna talk about it?" I asked, supplying a line to make sure no strange silences lapsed between us.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at me and stole the cigarette out of my mouth sucking down the smoke himself. He let it out in a real thin line and nodded with only the slightest bit of movement with his head. I just waited, as patiently as a gambler can, for him to began talking.  
  
"One whole year. Dat's how long we'd been sneaking around and such. I'se got sick of it, sick of him. Well, not sick of 'im but rather da way 'e was. Ya know how his eyes are dat icy blue color?" He asked looking in my direction but not really at me. I nodded and he did too.  
  
"Well, da rest of 'im is jist as cold."  
  
He didn't say anything for a few moments, and he looked like he was thinking about some things that had probably happened between the two of them. Some things I figured I'd be better off not knowing about. He shook his head briefly and took another drag off the short white stick in his hands.  
  
"Did you love 'im?" I asked, also not turning to look at him. I did, however, see him frown slightly from beneath my eyelids as I gazed from the corner of my eye.  
  
"No," He stated firmly. "I still do."  
  
"Den why'd ya throw 'im away?"  
  
"I didn' throw 'im away. 'E was never really 'dere anyways. It was all about da sex ta 'im. Jist some. . . fun," He added bitterly, his eyes clouding over in anguish and hostility.  
  
"But if youse love 'im. . ."  
  
"You don' get it. I'm not as strong as everyone thinks I am Race. Youse don' know what's it like ta fall in love wit someone who is as cold as da river water in winter or has as many emotions as da Bridge dat separates our territories," He explained a somewhat wistful look on his eighteen year old face.  
  
I remained silent. What could you possibly say too that? He was right, I didn't know. I wasn't the one stupid enough to fall in love with the likes of Spot Conlon. (Not that I'd ever say that too his face) And as for the way he described Spot. . . he was probably right about all of it. Spot never let anyone touch him, except Jack, and for a long time now he hadn't even allowed that. Most of the time he just looked at Jack in complete contempt, like he was a dumb child. Maybe Spot knew Jack loved him and thought, just like me, that that was pretty stupid in itself.  
  
"Do yerself a favor Race, don' eveah fall in love," He said breaking my thoughts and finishing off my cigarette with one last inhale.  
  
"I ain't in the mood ta do myself no favors," I grunted and he laughed, a genuine laugh, at what he figured was my sarcastic humor shining through. Even if the comment hadn't been said to make fun of the situation or anything.  
  
"Yer something else Race. Outta dis woild," He said between laughs and slapped him on the back. He stood up then and smiled down at me. "Come on Racey, dere's gotta be some sort of trouble wese could be scarin up."  
  
I smiled in return and followed him out of the stuffy bunkhouse. Jack has this captivating charisma about him that makes everyone like him. Seriously, I ain't joking. (I even saw Oscar Delancy smirk at something he said once) He can capture the attention of any living person and can keep it. People are naturally drawn to him, and it's not just because of his youthful good looks and charm. He has this. . . presence when he walks in anywhere. He's just as respected as Spot is, only people are more quiet about their respect for him then they are for Spot. Jack doesn't need all that showing off, (although he can be as cocky as anyone) he's content just listening to stories one of the guys has to tell over a beer at Tibby's. And he's just intimidating enough that people know not to mess with him too much.  
  
I can't tell you when I first fell in love with Jack. Because, quite frankly, even I don't know. It could have been far before any of this mess or it could be the exact moment I realized it. I can't be positive about that. I mean, I always looked up to him and he's been my best friend since he found me and brought me to the lodging house, but somewhere in-between the feelings changed.  
  
We were in Tibby's at the time. Well, actually we were leaving, but that wasn't the point. The point was we were walking out together and laughing about some stupid comment Mush had made earlier and I noticed how much I liked his laugh. Jack doesn't smile, or laugh, a whole a lot. Never did really. But he's got a nice laugh. Nice smile too, and surprisingly white teeth for a poor street kid. I could on and on about his smile and/or teeth.  
  
And if I could go on about those, just think about how long I could talk about his eyes and face. Back before Jack was the leader, when Jinx ruled Manhattan and I had barely hit puberty, they used to call him 'pretty boy' just to get on his nerves. But if you think about it, he really is a pretty boy, or at least he used to be. Now he's more like a beautiful man or something.  
  
Boy, have I got a way with words huh? I ramble a lot when I'm on the subject of Jack, so bare with me on this. Back to the original topic.  
  
We were leaving Tibby's and walking about towards the lodging house. It was one of those lazy days ya know? We had sold our papers early enough to get some good quality 'do whatever the hell you please' time in the afternoon, so we were lounging wherever we felt fit too.  
  
"Race," He said slinging a arm around my shoulders, "Happy birthday."  
  
I looked up at him in question. It wasn't my birthday, I knew it and he knew it. So obviously something was being cooked up in that complicated mind of his and since I seemed to be the subject of it I wasn't sure if I liked what might happen. But he was grinning like ghost. (Not that I've ever seen a ghost) So, I let him lead me to the bunkhouse and over to his bunk, but in caution. You could never really tell with Jack.  
  
He handed me a box which was hidden inside a paper bag. I eyed it (and him) suspiciously.  
  
"You know it ain't me birthday right?" I asked him, as I kept the box in my hands.  
  
He shrugged but didn't say anything just sat down on the bunk. I was the one with the present and yet he was the one who looked like a child on Christmas. I swear, sometimes I wonder how I understand him at all.  
  
I took the box out of the bag and turned it over when I saw it was upside down. There was some rolling from inside the box and I read the label when it was in view. Then, I am happy to report, I did not faint. It was a small box with 100% Havana Cigars scrawled on the top. It said there was half a dozen in the box, and you could smell them already. I love the smell of cigars, especially new ones. But I still had the decency to look surprised, Havana cigars were imported and that meant money. Money that Jack didn't have.  
  
"Jack. . . how's youse get dese?" I asked in open mouthed shock. He laughed at the expression on my face.  
  
"Bought 'em," He said mysteriously.  
  
"Obviously. But how? Dese is a lot a money Jack!" I exclaimed, peering down at the package then back at my friend.  
  
"Normally, yeah. But dey was on sale. It was only a buck fifty," He said shrugging as if the money was nothing.  
  
"A buck fifty! Jack I can' take dese! I mean -  
  
He cut me off mid sentence. "Youse are takin dem. It was left over from me Santa Fe money. An' since I ain't needin dat no more. . . besides, when is dis opportunity gonna come around again?"  
  
I shut my mouth and looked back down at the small yellow and blue box in wonder. He had gotten this for me. Without a second thought. I looked up at him (as I was now sitting on the bunk across from his) and watched his eyes as they watched me. His eyes are kind of hard to tell as far as color goes. Some days they look brown to me, other times green, and once even blue. But right then they were brown. This deep fudge color that about made me drown. His smile was reaching his eyes (for the first time in what seemed like forever) making them light up like the lights in Medda's after dark. And I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time, but I remember flinging my arms around his neck and hugging him because I couldn't find the words 'thank you' in my vocabulary.  
  
He hugged me back and that's when I fell. Him holding me, no matter how brief of time, just seemed right to my body and mind. I'll admit it scared the hell out of me. I mean, Jack was a guy. And so was I. But then again, Spot had been too and Jack loved him once upon a time, so I figured there might be some shred of hope for me as well.  
  
At least that's what I hoped.  
  
* * *  
  
I have horrible nightmares. Nightmares that bring back my memories from years and events passed, from before I came to where I am now. From before Jack and Bonus (another one of the past Manhattan boys) found me huddled on the edge of a nasty damp alleyway half starved and looking five years younger then my actual eleven years. Memories of my parents and my brother before they were killed in the fire. They haunt me all the time. Whenever I wake up from the dreams I try to collect myself, but if I can't calm down right away I leave the bunks and go up on the roof to sweat it out.  
  
That night I had one of the worst nightmares ever. I was walking through the apartment building we used to live in (my family and I) and I walked right into them. They were like these zombies or something, all flesh eaten and scarred. Blood matted at their features and bones sticking out. And they were yelling at me. Telling me it was my fault because I had knocked over the lamp. That I was a murderer who killed them. It scared me so much I went straight for the night air and roof without a second thought.  
  
"You okay Race?" A voice asked me. I knew it was Jack, but I didn't turn to look at him. I hoped my ignoring him would send the right impression and he would leave me alone. I didn't want him seeing my like this. But, stubborn and stupid are his middle names, and when I didn't answer he crawled up the fire escape and over to where I was standing.  
  
"Don' youse know when you ain't wanted?" I growled at him. He didn't say anything, just shook his head and leaned down next to where I was leaning.  
  
"What about dem scares you enough that youse gotta get out of dare?" He finally asked. I knew he meant the nightmares. But it was beyond me how he knew about them in the first place. I'm a pretty good actor most of the time.  
  
"Dare nuthin Jack. Jist go back ta bed," I mumbled using one last ditch effort to get him to leave.  
  
"Uh-uh. You is gonna stand dare and tell me what is goin on in dat head of yers," He said forcefully. Another thing about Jack is that he will rarely take 'no' for an answer.  
  
"Dare jist dreams about me family. Dat's all," I answered.  
  
"Dreams don' make youse toss and turn all night like youse in agony Race," He pointed out softly. I blinked that he knew me that well but nodded.  
  
"So, what about yer family. You ain't never told me what 'appened ta dem," He began casually, what in reality was a plea for me to talk to me.  
  
"Dey died. What's ta know."  
  
"Race don' do dis. I'm yer friend right? An' if I mean anyt'ing to ya you'll tell me what's eatin at ya."  
  
'If only you know how much you do mean to me.' I shook that thought out of my head and started in on the story of my pre-newsie life with a sigh. I covered almost every detail of some events, of their personalities and of that last night. I got so into telling him that I didn't realize I was crying til the tears were rolling down my face and I couldn't stop them, so I tried brushing them away, but he stopped me.  
  
"It's alright, youse saw me cry, now I'll see you." His voice was steady and he looked down at me, before pulling my sob racked body to his in a comforting embrace. One meant to try an calm me down.  
  
I sat there in his lap and cried like the child I knew I still was, but would never allow myself to be. He was rubbing small circles in my back and whispering soothing words into my ear as his other hand was running through my hair. We stayed like that for a little while until my sobs quietly to dry, shuddery breaths. I still clung to him, holding fists full of his sleeping clothes. He leaned out of the embrace just a little to look at me and make sure I was okay. I sniffled a little, trying to think of something to say.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Don' mention it."  
  
"Youse betteah not either. Or I'se 'ill tell everyone about you and Spot," I countered, I felt him laugh genuinely at my small threat because he knew I had no intention of ever saying a word about Spot to the other boys. And I knew that he'd never tell them I was crying like baby on his shoulder (or chest I guess) tonight. It was like an unspoken rule between us.  
  
"Uh Jack?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You can let go of me now."  
  
He appeared to think of this for a few moments before shaking his head and actually pulling me a little closer. "Nah. . . I kinda like how dis feels."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
He smirked at me lack of speech and looked down at me. I couldn't have had a coherent thought then if I tried too. All I could see was his eyes, his hair, his lips. . . and the next thing I know I'm kissing him like it was something totally natural for me to do. And not wrong or disgusting or anything. It was just Jack and me. And he was actually kissing me back with full vengeance. He lowered his one hand to where the other was clasping them together behind my back and pulling me full against him. I kept my hands in his hair, letting my mouth pour out all of the emotions I was feeling.  
  
Their was liquid fire in my stomach and the cool night air might as well have been the midsummer sun as far as I was concerned. He tasted exactly how I imagined, fresh and slightly sweet, it was totally intoxicating. I couldn't get close enough to him or taste him quite enough and his small moans from deep in his throat only ignited that fire further. If he hadn't be able to pull away then god only knows what would've happened.  
  
"Wow. . ." He breathed, panting slightly. His lips were moist and swollen as well as his face being flushed from the combination of heat and cool air around us. The look suited him and I wondered what he'd look like in an after glow if he looked his good after a few kisses.  
  
"Yeah. . ." I replied my hands resting on his shoulders, our noses were almost touching and I could feel his breath on my face.  
  
He shifted under me uncomfortably and muttered a small curse before looking at me again. "Youse should, uh, probably get up now," He said. I looked at him a bit strangely until I felt exactly why I was suppose to be moving. Immediately I stood, not noticing my own whimper at the lack of body heat I had now. Jack wasn't the only one with a slight problem though. And we just stayed in our spots on the roof. Catching our breath and thinking over what had just occurred.  
  
"Um. . .Jack, I didn't mean too, well, I mean -  
  
"Race it's alright. I was kind of kissing you back if you remember right," He said smirking again. The colors were coming back to his face and he stood from the ground where he had sunk minutes earlier.  
  
"Yeah, but youse ain't mad or nuthin?" I asked. My brain was working over time, thoughts bouncing off walls inside there that I didn't even know I had.  
  
"Should I be? Do ya regret it er somethin?" He countered and looked at me for a reaction. From his blank expression I couldn't even began to think about what he was thinking or how he wanted me to answer, so I went with the truthful approach.  
  
"No. I'se been wantin ta do dat fer awhile."  
  
He nodded. "Good. Cause I'se don regret it either."  
  
I smiled at him, a gesture he reciprocated. We didn't say anything else for what seemed like hours and probably was because when Jack finally broke the silence the sun was just starting to peek out from behind the tallest buildings in the city.  
  
"Wese bettah be getting back to our bunks before people start whispering," He motioned for me to follow him and I chatted animatedly, occasionally making him laugh, all the way down the fire escape. I get rather chatty when I'm in an exceptionally good mood. I was about to duck back into the window which led to the bunks but Jack pulled me over to the side and kissed me again, this wasn't hurried though, just slow like we had all the time and space to our own.  
  
"Sorry," He murmured when he broke from me again.  
  
"Don' be sorry. Youse can do dat anytime ya's want," I said sighing. He smiled one last time then went through the window with me following him like a lovesick puppy.  
  
Yes, I know, I'm pathetic. You've had yer laugh, now get over it.  
  
* * *  
  
I'm not sure how Spot found out, or when he did, but I remember him glaring at me so hard one day that the whole world could've been set on fire from his eyes. I think he was trying to make me explode or something. Which at the time didn't make sense too me. Jack had told me all about his and Spot's relationship and how he had left eventually because Spot didn't love him and never would. So why Spot suddenly hated me was beyond my rational thought.  
  
Jack was wrong. Spot did love him, I found that out by just watching the small Brooklyn leader. By seeing the look in his eyes and the soft barely visible pleading in his voice whenever he spoke to Jack, though Kelly somehow was able to always remain indifferent. And definitely by the death glares he's sent me of the last month. I get tapped in his hard stares and the only way I can escape is if I look away, but it's hard to do that.  
  
If you knew Spot you'd understand that.  
  
I wasn't scared of myself mind you, I was Jack's friend above all else and Spot wouldn't hurt me because of that very reason, but what I was scared of was that Jack would just look at Spot and have his own blinds lifted. That he would finally notice that Spot did, indeed, love him. That he was wrong. And then I figured he'd go back to Spot because after all he loved Spot right? Not me. No matter what I felt for him.  
  
"He knows ya know," He said to me one night as he held me tightly. I froze slightly as his mentioning this. Maybe this was where everything ended for me.  
  
"I know. He, uh, doesn't like me too much no more," I replied cautiously.  
  
"I noticed."  
  
I felt that I owed Jack to tell him. Tell him that Spot loved him back the way he had wanted him too for over a year. Even if he broke out in smiles, thanked me and dashed for Brooklyn without a backward glance. I owed him my life, and as my best friend I owed him that.  
  
"He loves you. I don' know if youse noticed dat or not. But I did. An' I'se 'ill understand if youse wanna go back ta 'im ya know? Because youse love 'im an'-  
  
"Loved him. Loved. Ya know, as in past tense. An' know I hadn't noticed it," He said cutting me off mid rambling.  
  
"Ya sure? Because like I'se said I'se 'ill understand if youse -  
  
"Race, shut up fer a minute would ya?" He said and turned me around to face him so he was talking directing to me. "I don' care if Spot is in love wit me. I don'. Sure a few months ago if youse 'ad told me dat I would've crawled on me hands and knees across dat bridge to go ta him. But ya see, I'se 'ave kinda changed over dis time. I ain't gonna leave ya Race. My heart's 'ere in Manhattan, it left Brooklyn a while ago."  
  
I could feel the tears stinging my eyes and I quickly swallowed them before they had a chance to reach the surface. I answered his little heart warming speech with the only thing that I could think.  
  
"I love you."  
  
The smile he gave me was reward enough for me. It was bright enough to light up the semi-dark room we were sitting in. He pulled me closer to him and rested his hands on my hips gently.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
He kissed me then, and if I were to describe the rest of the night to you, some would probably have their eyes fall out of their heads. Just know that I found out why Spot was so vocal why I saw them (I was the same way) and that I woke up the next morning with Jack's arms wrapped around me and our faces about four inches from each other. I love watching him sleep. He doesn't look like the leader Jack Kelly then, he just looks like a simple teenage boy. The look suits him.  
  
Oh, and the whole after glow thing I was wondering about earlier? I could definitely get used to that.  
  
Definitely.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: I honestly didn't think my Race muse would talk that much, I apologize for that. But I want to thank a couple people first.  
  
Thistle: Thank bunches for the review, Jack/Spot is normally my fave too, but my friend has kind of poisoned my mind for the time being. I also wanna express how much I enjoy YOUR stories. You're excellent writer and the positive review from you means a lot to me.  
  
anUNDERCOVERnewsie: You follow me wherever I go!!! Just kidding, you're a faithful reader and I thank you for it. And of course I'm updating, why wouldn't I? Oh, and that sequel for 'Leaving You Behind' I'm almost done with the first chapter to look out for that. 


	3. Jack: Burned Bridges and Beyond

Chapter Three: Burned Bridges and Beyond (Jack)  
  
I never wanted to be a hero or god-like in some kid's eyes. When I started that strike it was because I was fed up with working for just above nothing day in and day out. I did it to show them hot shots in their fancy offices that we're just as human and every bit as important as they are. I didn't expect, nor did I want, the fame I received afterwards. You can credit that to my teenage stupidity if you want, but I'm not joking around.  
  
I got a lot of respect after the strike. Kids on the street would recognize me and run up to talk to me. Or grown men would tip there hats as they passed by me. A lot of girls approached me too. In general I was known. And respected. And liked.  
  
And I hated every moment of it.  
  
Maybe that's hard for anyone to believe. That a dirty, orphaned newsie like me wouldn't want all that stuff. Sometimes it's even hard for me to believe it. But for some reason I enjoy being the 'nobody' I was before all this mess. I had somewhere to sleep, enough money to buy food with and friends that trusted me. Who needed more than that?  
  
I think that's why I ended up going over to Brooklyn. Spot was the only person I knew who has ever had to deal with something like this before. Besides that though, was the fact that I'm not very welcome in Brooklyn. After the strike it just got worse. I don't know why, but I don't think they liked me being such close friends with Spot, but I never asked them so I can't be for sure. All I know was that after the constant flow of praise I was getting from Manhattan and Queens alike, the open glares and unpleasant tones with which Spot's boys greeted me with were actually quite appreciated.  
  
I don't know why I kissed him in the first place. Caught up in my own thoughts I suppose. (I really do think to much) I remember watching him and noticing for the first time that he wasn't all that bad looking. Short, yes, and not all that muscular either, but his eyes. . . his eyes might have been what made me kiss him. They're clear and blue, but strangely deep. They're nice eyes to just stare at.  
  
If my own kissing him surprised me, then what really stunned me was whenever I went over their to talk after that we'd always end up kissing. And we were never caught. I figured Spot must've told his boys to back off when I came around. But I'm not for sure on that either. For sure, the only thing I knew was that somewhere between the talking and kissing I fell for him.  
  
Hard.  
  
And that's why I kept going back. Kept letting him have his way with me. Love will give you illusions and it'll kill you if you let it. I almost let it too.  
  
You can't possibly understand what being with Spot was like. No one could even begin to comprehend the feelings I got. This mixture of icy denial and fiery lust. It was like he had this war fighting, boiling just beneath his soul. Half of him telling him that doing anything with me was wrong. While the other half was whimpering, moaning and clawing at my back like a wild and tortured animal. But like I said, love will screw with your mind and make you believe things that aren't really there. It probably didn't hurt that I could fool myself either.  
  
I broke it up when the fooling around ended and the blinds finally lifted from my eyes. He pleaded, asked, yelled, in fact, the only thing he didn't do was get down on his knees and beg me not to go. I won't say he didn't need me. Because I think he did. I think he'd gotten use to the nighttime sex and the daytime forgetting. I think in some sense he crave it. Like an addiction or something.  
  
What I found was weird was that towards the end he became so much gentler. Like he sensed I was going to leave soon. Normally he was really rough. I'm not certain if that was because I was another guy or what, I just remember the end being kinder, gentler, easier on my body in general. Just little things, ya know. Like instead of biting he would just nip and while he normally scratched and dug his nails into my back, then it was just soft caresses. I don't know what made him change so drastically and perhaps I never will.  
  
I won't deny that I was hung up on him for the longest time. But if you were me you would be too. He's like this fire that smolders even after you've thrown water on it. Or rather, that's how my feelings for him were. I guess I'll have to thank Race for dousing the smolders with ice and ending it completely.  
  
I have a lot to thank Race for.  
  
For one, he was there for me, and somehow he knew everything about Spot and me. He's a great listener and that's what he did then. He listened and helped me whenever he could. Just him being there helped like you wouldn't believe. That little gambler has quite the presence for being barely 5'5. Not that I mind his height. Hmm. . .first Spot and now him. I must have a thing for short guys.  
  
Spot's kisses and everything beyond, like I said earlier, were a mixture of lust, denial, desire and a few other haphazard emotions thrown in for good measure. Race's kisses are different. I'm not saying better, (You see, Spot has the fuller lips to nibble and tease, but Race has the more talented tongue) just different. Because, through them I could tell that he loved me. Which was something I wasn't used too. But I recognized the emotion that I had once reserved for Spot.  
  
It took me longer to fall for Race than it did for Conlon. Mostly, I think, because I've been friends with Race longer and I was more guarded the second time around. It helped that he already knew and understood about the Spot situation. He even went as far as telling me he thought Spot actually loved me now and that he'd understand if I wanted to go back to him.  
  
Sometimes, Race isn't all that bright.  
  
That night has to be one of the greatest of my entire life. (Even if I am only eighteen years old) Besides my mother when I was real little, he was the first person to say he loved me. And you couldn't imagine (even if I was able to explain it to ya) how much that meant to me. So I said it back and really knew that what I said was true. The rest of the night went just as well if you catch my drift. Though I was almost certain someone would wake and come down stairs to find out what was going on. Race is every bit the screamer (if not more so) that Spot was. But the end result was beyond worth it. He looked absolutely irresistible with his eyes barely open in desire and his whole body covered in sweat. If I had a camera I'd have taken a picture of him. He looked THAT good.  
  
As I'm sure you can imagine.  
  
And things have been as close to perfect as they can possibly get since then. With the one unfortunate exception of Spot. Who knows about Race and I and seems to be on some sort of personal crusade to bring Race down anyway he can. Which I don't really understand. Unless Race was right after all. . .  
  
. . . Nah. I don't believe it. And I won't unless he says it too my face. And even then I'd be a little leery. I mean, this is Spot Conlon we're talking about. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe he's even human! Humans show emotion. We feel. I'm not so sure that he does, or can do, either.  
  
I don't mean to sound bitter, but, well, I guess in a way I am. Wouldn't you be? He used me. USED ME. I can't just forgive and forget something like that. No one in their right (or left) mind could. I suppose, though, that someday I'll be able to let the whole thing go. Let it blow over me, a process that might be speeded up since I have Race here now. But the rejection still has it's own after stings.  
  
I wouldn't classify myself as a sadist, (David told me what that meant the other day, so I can actually understand it now) but when it comes to Spot, seeing him in any kind of pain would be a pleasant sight. Not to sound nasty or anything, but, he deserves it, because I know for a fact I'm not the only person he's had his way with and left.  
  
Although, I technically left him, so I guess that analogy doesn't work.  
  
The guys know about me and Race. We weren't all that concerned that they would find out, I mean, we were pretty obvious. (Though it took them a month after to actually figure it out) Besides, Specs and Dutchy were never that subtle either, and we just joked with them but let things be. Plus Mush and Blink are practically married they're so together, but they were actually surprised to see me and Race. I guess we didn't fit the stereotype or something.  
  
"What da hell is going on in 'ere?!" Skittery's voice cracked through my thoughts. Which were kind of consumed with what I was doing at the time. I hadn't even heard the bunkroom door open, let alone all the weary newsies wander in. Skittery broke the moment though and I sat up so fast, I smacked the back of my head on the bunk just above me.  
  
Race and I flew apart instantly upon hearing the voice. Straightening our clothes and trying, desperately, not to look to frazzled, we even went as far as to plant perfectly innocent expressions on our faces. Even though we knew that everyone who was now openly staring at us in shock had seen enough to know exactly what was going on.  
  
"Hey guys," Race said nervously, licking his lips slowly. I just smiled at the gang.  
  
Skittery smirked, and crossed his arms firmly around his chest. The expression on his face wasn't one of anger, more along the lines of amusement. Like he'd been just waiting to catch us. Maybe he knew all along. Maybe. Skittery is pretty observant when he wants to be about certain things. The rest of the guys though, looked absolutely stunned and the expressions weren't going to be fading anytime soon.  
  
"Were youse plannin on tell us about. . .dis, anytime soon?" Skittery asked eyeing us. Talking for the entire group since he seemed to be the only one that managed to keep his vocal chords working.  
  
"Well, um, sure Skitts, jist waitin fer da right time," Race answered weakly. I only nodded to back up his statement.  
  
"How long it been going on fer?"  
  
Race and I exchanged guilty glances before fidgeting with our hands, unable to meet any of the guy's eyes. Since Race had been doing all the talking I decided to answer this question.  
  
"About a month."  
  
At this Skittery laughed - out loud - and smiled brightly down at us. "An' ta think wese jist now is finding dis out. Youse are betteah hiders den Specs and Dutchy," He gasped in between the breaths.  
  
And that was that. Nobody asked, nobody frowned on us nobody even seemed to care. The only thing they did do was jab at us un-mercilessly whenever the chance presented itself. Especially getting at Race since I'm the leader of the boys. And because he's smaller then most of them. (Though I wouldn't want to mess with him, that little Italian could kick my ass if he wanted too)  
  
If I were to ask me about what's going to happen after this, how things will turn out or end up like in five or ten years, I won't be able to answer you. Because honestly, I don't know. And maybe, it's better if we don't know how things are going to turn out in the end ya know? Take Spot, Race and me for example. I was with Spot and pretty much blinded by only him. So when we broke up it was one of the hardest things for me to do. But if I hadn't done it, I wouldn't be with Race now and let me tell that that, my friends, would be the greatest mistake. Something I'd have totally missed out on.  
  
I like to think about things this way. Don't forget the stuff that happened yesterday, who knows when the information you learn then will come in handy someday? But don't let yourself focus solely on the past either. Live for tomorrow. And worry about today in only the here and now. Don't put off things you could do today til tomorrow. It'll only end up screwing you over in the near future. For being a poor newsie kid I've been living a pretty good life so far by using that advice. So learn it. Live it. Breathe it and pass it on to the next unlucky fellow.  
  
If you never take risks then you're life isn't going to end up the way you want it to. I CAN guarantee you that much in life. So go out and do whatever you want too, when you want to it and don't let anyone tell you that you can't for some reason or not.  
  
Because who know. Happiness and the rest of your life might be waiting for you just around the next corner.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: Done! WOO HOO! Anyways, I'm happy, it's my 2nd finished fanfic and I'm always excited about things like that. Although, if anyone wants me to write another chapter on this I suppose I could. But only if enough people want me too. Because I have like six other stories I'm working on and I need to get moving on them. (Too much to do in too little a time span!) I think I'll go finish the next chapter for "Prayers and Promises" now. . or Delinquent Central. Hmm. . . or maybe I'll just go watch newsies again! (I love the DVD with all the extra stuff! It's great!) Alright, I've babbled enough. So I'll wrap this a/n up now.  
  
Special Thanks to the following:  
  
anUNDERCOVERnewsie: happy dances! I love happy dances!!! Lol, I'm stupid today. But thanks for the review!  
  
SpotLover421: I finished Jack's POV. . .it's short and was really hard for me to write. Don't know why. I read the second chap, and I think you're doing a good job right now. And I love most anything with Spot too, so. . .  
  
TheCrazyUnknown: I have a stalker!!! * dances around stupidly in giddiness * I have no idea why that makes me happy, but whatever. And I updated, don't send Spot over here, please!  
  
Nakaia Aidan-Sun: They are cute together! Although I have no freakin clue why, they just are. And Spot and Jack are too, but recently I've been going through a whole Race/Jack thing, which is probably I haven't written anything on "Prayers and Promises" lately. . .I probably should now though. Thanks for the review anyways! It is greatly appreciated. Oh, and you have to update "The Cowboy and the Gambler". It's on my favorites list and well, I need Race/Jack stories! You mentioned that you didn't know if you were going to post the 2nd chapter, but if you don't could you at least email me and send it there so I could read it? I'd love you forever. And if you wanted to write more to send to me that would be cool too. . . * whistles innocently * 


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